"Sol Mi, are you expecting someone?"

I snapped my eyes away from the window -- I hadn't even realized I'd been watching the window -- and faced my father. It was the first time in a long time that he'd been home to eat dinner with me and my mom, but I couldn't say I was thrilled to have him there. It wasn't that I had any bad feelings towards my dad, I'd just gotten so used to to him being absent from family oriented things like meals that having him there put us all on pins and needles for some reason. It was like waiting in "calm" before a guerilla attack. You probably could have cut the tension at the dinner table that night with an amateur karate chop.

"No," I quipped. I kept my expression vacant and blinked my eyes more widely than was natural, trying to look as innocent as I could. My father didn't seem to notice one way or the other, though, preferring to give his attention to his food again.

My mother straightened up in her seat, pulling her shoulders back and lifting her chin. "Sol Mi spent almost four hours cleaning the store the other day, you know."

I faced my plate and picked at my serving of gejang. I wasn't sure whether to be proud that my mom was praising me out of nowhere or fear some kind of follow-up knock down.

It was that latter.

"She was embarrassed when some boys she likes came in and saw her slacking off."

My jaw clenched, and I picked at my gejang more violently. Did she really have to bring that up? I was trying to get over it. Still, I had to give my mom some credit for tweaking the details of the story, at the very least.

My father's eyes flickered up. They went to my mother, then to me, and then back down to his dinner. "Well, it's a lesson learned."

My dad wasn't usually so reticent, so that fact that he was avoiding both conversation and prolonged eye contact didn't help to make the atmosphere any less strained. If anything, the air only got heavier. I pretended not to notice and started to eat my crab rather than abuse it.

"Speaking of that," my mom said after giving a small cough, "you've called Seung Bo-ssi by now, haven't you, Sol Mi?"

I paused in the middle of chewing and glanced over at my mother. She was pushing her food around her plate like I'd been doing earlier.

"Yeah, yesterday," I said after gulping my gejang down. To avoid any more questions, I took in another unnecessarily large mouthful.

"Who's Seung Bo-ssi?" my father commented. There was finally some emotion in his face and voice while he raised a brow in my direction. "Your boyfriend?"

The unexpected (and disturbing) question caused me to sputter, and I had to swallow so that my half chewed dinner wouldn't make a second appearance on my plate. The lump of food was too big to make it down, though. In the few painful seconds it took for the food to pass, I'd resorted to clamping my fingers around the edge of the table and squeezing my eyes shut, wondering why neither of my parents seemed to care that I was practically dying.

After a few strong coughs I was more or less recovered and shot a glare towards my father. It melted in an instant once I realized what I was doing.

"No, he's not," I clarified somewhat passive-aggressively. Both in annoyance and mild shame, I looked down at my plate. My parents had both been watching me while I choked, clearly concerned, but couldn't they have asked if I was all right or gotten up to pat my back? Was that too much to ask?

"Is he one of those boys that you like?"

I shot another glare my father's way without thinking. "No."

My father raised an eyebrow again. Even though his expression was pretty blank, I was almost sure that he was playing with me. Normally when my dad was teasing me about something he would make it obvious by smirking or smiling with his eyes, so his nonchalance confused me.

"Seung Bo-ssi is the man who walked Sol Mi home after that incident in the store," my mother supplied. I glanced over at her. Her posture was still unsettlingly straight and she continued to make artwork out of her meal. Gejang wasn't her favorite dish (although my dad and I loved it), nor was it the easiest or cheapest to make, so I didn't understand why she would have gone through all the trouble when it wasn't a special occasion.

My father gave the situation more attention than his food for once after my mom's input. "What incident in the store?"

"When she was embarrassed by those boys."

"It was that much of a problem?" My dad's eyes pin-balled from me to my mother.  He ultimately targeted my mother. "Why didn't you tell me? Sol Mi was harassed and some stranger followed her home?"

"It wasn't that serious," my mother defended, stiffening up even more. "She's 17, everything that happens to her is over-dramatized. Seung Bo-ssi escorted her because she was hysterical. He's a nice man. I met him."

"You met him? So you stopped to chat with some man you don't even know after he stalked our daughter?"

"Stop being unreasonable. You know it's not like that."

"I don't think I'm being unreasonable. Why would you hide this from me if it's not what I think it is?"

"How was I hiding anything from you? I just told you! You're just trying to start trouble."

"I'm not starting anything. You should have told me when it happened, not all this time after the fact."

"When was I supposed to tell you? You're barely ever here."

"I'm here every day."

"Under cover of darkness."

I kept eating, acting like I couldn't hear every word that they threw at each other. Listening to my parents fight was always awkward, but I especially hated being in the middle of it, both figuratively and literally. When I was in another room I could preoccupy myself with something more than food, but I couldn't get up and leave the table without making the issue worse. If my parents had to fight, I would have preferred that they leave me out of it and let me live in ignorance.

It was a good thing I had a well-practiced imagination. My ability to fantasize so vividly that my daydreams came close to overshadowing reality was a real life saver sometimes.

In my air-castle world, I took Seung Bo up on his offer and went to meet Teen Top at some glamorous celebrity event. I dressed casually and didn't do anything to attract attention, but I still managed to stand out even in a star-studded idol world. My pseudo-self flirted with and charmed boys that I cyber-stalked in real life. I was cool and confident and everything that I very rarely was under normal circumstances.

I did use my mind rationally on occasion too, though. When it came to Seung Bo's offer -- or maybe Seung Bo's threat -- I realized I didn't have to worry about it right away. There was always the chance that he was just bluffing, or would forget about it all completely if enough time passed. He probably wouldn't make his move too soon, if at all, so there was really no need to stress. Or if I was going to stress, it should have only been a small amount.

It shouldn't have made me sick.

Sometimes your emotional state had physical side effects, and that was what I suspected was wrong with me by the end of the week. I'd called Seung Bo on Tuesday, struggled to keep myself sane on Wednesday, dealt with my family dinner on Thursday, and needed a break from it all by Friday. I knew that I was only continuing my bratty streak by faking an illness and staying home to hide, but I decided to indulge myself in selfishness, just for one day. I'd earned it after all I'd been through, hadn't I?

It was a rare luxury that I got the house to myself, so I took full advantage of it by turning the family room into my own temporary dominion. I stayed in my bedroom most of the time, since it was the only place I could get privacy. My mother would usually work in the store during the day while I was in school, and I was obligated to join her there or take over entirely in the evening. My dad worked long hours, but I'd be lying if I said I knew what exactly he did for work. He was involved in marketing, I knew, and had made a good profit with it in the past; a good enough profit to give him the gall to buy, refurbish, and run a small convenience store just outside of the heart of the city, in fact. His dreams for a successful entrepreneurship crumbled bit by bit with each year that passed, though, since the store seemed to gobble up more capital than it was able to produce.

My parents didn't talk to me about their financial situation, but I wasn't so ignorant that I couldn't figure it out for myself. Comparing my childhood to my teenage years made it obvious. Not only had the way my parents spent money changed, but so had their mentality. Not only were they more frustrated and firm, but they were also less happy.

Thinking about all of that made me feel like a more of a brat than ever, especially since I was sprawled out on the couch eating junk food and watching TV while my parents were out making the money that supported my past, present, and future.

The amount of pleasure I got from lounging went into a tail-dive, and I paused to reevaluate my position. There was already a potato chip ready in my hand at that point, so I brought it to my mouth and chewed on it thoughtfully, sinking back into the cushions. By the time the chip was reduced to mush I'd reached a resolve. I swallowed, sighed, and closed the bag of chips all together. I shut off the TV, lugged myself off the couch, and made for the kitchen.

No one ever got anywhere by slacking, right?

As I put my snacks away and picked up the rest of the mess I'd made, I tried to figure out what I could do to redeem myself. It was too late to turn back time, but there were plenty of ways to make up for the self-centered choices I'd made that day. I could use the time study, or clean, or cook dinner; I could do it all. I would do it all. I would do something besides lay around and feel sorry for myself. As much as my parents' negativity bothered me, there were moments when I saw how much their behavior was rubbing off on me. I didn't want to be a miserable person, and as hard as it was, I could only rely on myself to make sure that I didn't.  

I decided to start with cleaning. The truth was I actually enjoyed playing maid, but only when I wasn't being forced to. I was normally only ever sloppy when it was for the deliberate purpose of having something to clean up in the future, as weird as it was.

So I set out to take on the whole house, minus the bedrooms. I put on some music, dusted and polished and sanitized at my own pace, and had an honestly great time doing it. It only took me two hours or so, and that was with the breaks I took to dance along to an especially up-beat song on the radio (using my own shameful choreography, of course). So, after returning and organizing the cleaning supplies in their rightful place, I moved on to the next item on my list: studying.

That one was easier said than done. For one, I was energized and the idea of sitting down to read about anything sounded like more of a downer than ever. But I still made the attempt. I laid out on the freshly vacuumed carpet, snagging a patch of sunlight that streamed in through the window, and opened up my History textbook. History didn't bother me as much as it bothered most other students, but when I had MBLAQ's "Mona Lisa" playing in my head the only thing I managed to concentrate on was visualizing the MV. When it came to idols, though, my mind's eye couldn't compare to my real eyes, and I could swear my computer was cooing at me from the other room to be and put to use. MBLAQ's "Mona Lisa" had to do with historical figures. That made it relevant to my studies, right?

I toughed it out, making it through an entire chapter (although it was probably more like three if you counted up all of the times I had to go back and re-read what I'd failed to take in the first time around) before I gave in to temptation and leaped for the PC. On the way there, I noticed the mailman making his rounds outside, and I decided that one more detour was needed before I dismembered my pattern of productivity.

I scurried outside, cursing myself for not putting on shoes or a jacket in January, and collected the mail from the mailbox. I practically sprinted back inside and made a dive for the couch, curling up under the fluffy blanket I'd brought down from my bedroom that morning. While I defrosted, I flipped through the mail. Most were bills or pointless advertisements addressed to my parents, so I tossed them away without a second glance. But there was one envelope in the bunch that demanded my attention.

It demanded my attention because it was unmarked. There was no name, address, or personal information for either the intended recipient or the sender. It hadn't come in with the rest of the mail, obviously, so where had it come from?

I knew it wasn't safe to open an unmarked package, but somehow I found myself doing it before I could tell myself not to. I did have the sense to be cautious, if that counted for anything.

The envelope wasn't sealed shut, so I pinched the sides, pushing inwards until the mouth opened enough for me to see inside. From what I could tell, there was only a folded piece of paper in there.

I considered what the best move would be. I probably should have put the envelope down and waited for one of my parents, but at the same time that sounded stupid and overly-cautious. Maybe I was just too curious for my own good, but I decided to find out what the mystery mail was for myself.

I sat up straighter, made sure my lower body was completely covered by the blanket, and turned the envelope over in my lap. I had to shake it a few times to coax the paper out, but when it did fall it landed with a surprising plop. The single sheet was folded into thirds, but it bloomed part of the way once it was freed from its confides. I surveyed the letter for a moment, looking for any powders or suspicious substances that were out of the ordinary, before making my move.

I noticed right away that it wasn't just a single page like I had originally thought. Two smaller items, rectangular and laminated, had been folded inside of the paper. I had my theories about what they were right away, but I chose to examine the note itself first.

I grabbed the paper by the corners with my fingernails, trying not to let my skin make contact with it. That plan lasted for about four seconds, though. I slapped the paper back down, smoothed out the folds using my clothed forearm, and gave it a second try, not caring so much about my fingertips.

It was hand written, charmingly sloppy, and addressed to me.

Sol Mi-ssi,

I want to apologize for the way I spoke to you over the phone. To be honest, I was a little drunk, so my mind wasn't in the right place. However, my offer remains. As you probably know, Teen Top is making their comeback in a couple of days, and I managed to get you a pair of passes for their Music Bank performance. Just show the passes to one of the employees and they'll get you in. No need to wake up early, cough up cash, or wait in line!

Please don't feel any pressure. The passes will get you backstage, but only if you're comfortable with it. I didn't say anything to anyone, so no one's expecting you (although it would be a welcomed surprise, I promise!). If you'd rather just bring a friend to see the performance, that's fine. Just enjoy yourself and support your idol friends!

Best regards,

Yeon Seung Bo

I didn't react right away. One of my first coherent thoughts was that I was glad Seung Bo himself was coherent; after our talk over the phone, my fabrications had warped him into some Mad-Hatter type of character. Apparently Seung Bo was fine as long as he was sober.

After taking the day to unwind, I'd forgot about the issue and any anxiety that came along with it. Teen Top popping up again wasn't nearly as problematic as it probably would have been otherwise. For the first time, I was able to look at the situation without any emotional interference.

It really wouldn't be a big deal, would it, to go see Teen Top perform? As long as I didn't have to make eye contact or be within a recognizable distance, it could be fun. I'd never gone to Music Bank, but I'd always wanted to. Now I had a free VIP pass, and who was I to snub that kind of gift?

I started visualizing the possibilities, and there were almost no negative scenarios. Sure, I might have to deal with fangirls with unhealthy obsessions, but they would be a minority, and there was plenty of security that would make sure nothing serious happened. I might get shoved around and leave with a lessened sense of hearing, but I would be just as guilty of going a little crazy for "Going Crazy" as the next girl.

It was the sort of thing that I'd always dreamed about. My first dream-come-true experience had turned out to be more of a nightmare, but I could prepare myself for the second chance. I was lucky enough to get a second chance, so how could I not take it? And, most importantly, I didn't even have to face Teen Top. I could see them live, in person, but the concept didn't have to be reciprocated; they didn't have to see me. Getting too up-close and personal was just dangerous. I was a normal girl, not an idol, so trying to stand on par with the stars would just turn me into dust, naturally.

Besides, hadn't I just lectured myself about taking action and not waiting around for everything to miraculously happen on its own? Wasn't this the paramount of opportunities to grab life by the horns?

My stomach began to turn, but more out of anticipation than anything. I could really do it, couldn't I? I could really go to Music Bank and see Teen Top's comeback. I could be a part of the audience that got to take in "Going Crazy" for one of the first times. I could be a part of the audience that Teen Top performed their first song of the new year for. It wasn't the single most amazing thing in the world when you looked at the bigger picture, but it made me feel like I was being included in some exclusive, life changing event. Or maybe it was that special, and maybe it would somehow end up life changing, too.

Still, I nibbled on my bottom lip as I put the letter aside and examined the passes instead. It would be waste not to use them and I'd definitely regret it if I didn't. But some part of me was still worried about the 'what ifs' involved, and my pride tried to point out that giving in to the pity offer was accepting charity for my own weakness, further proving my own weakness.

In the end, my excitement won out. Hell, I could be weak if it meant getting free VIP passes into Music Bank. I would gladly be weak.

To prove the point, I threw the blanket off and danced around the empty house with my own personal Golden Tickets clutched to my chest, squealing like a slice of bacon in a frying pan.

I was going to Music Bank. VIP style, baby!

Author's Note:

I have to acknowledge the fact that I don't follow music shows and don't really know how they work, so there will be some inaccuracies on that front. I'm only using Teen Top's "Going Crazy" comeback because it's convenient; the story won't necessarily be parallel with their current activities in the future.

Thank you, that is all. Feedback is always appreciated, remember. ^^